Help Me Hold On
by MessieJo
Summary: A little Deacon/Rayna post-transplant fic. My take on what happened after the Season 3 finale. POV/Flashbacks.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** _Hey y'all. Haven't written in a while as life has been absolutely crazy, but this idea came to mind a few weeks ago after watching the Season 3 finale again and I thought I'd toy with it and see where it goes. I know there's already a handful of post-transplant fics going around—and they're awesome, by the way—and so I thought I'd throw my take in as well. Basically the premise is that Deacon's in a coma following the liver transplant surgery and although he's not physically conscious, he's mentally aware of everything. Expect a lot of POV content and DEYNA flashbacks. This will be a multi-chapter fic. Let me know what y'all think in the reviews! Happy Reading! Thanks in advance! xo MESSIEJo_

 ****Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rights and characters are reserved and belong to ABC and its affiliates...no copyright infringement intended****

* * *

 ** _CHAPTER ONE:_**

 ** _-DEACON POV-_**

 _She was back again._

 _He could hear her. Hell, he could just_ _ **sense**_ _her there._

 _His lover. His soul mate. His other half. The woman that had been at the forefront of his mind for the past 20 something years, even though she'd spent 14 of those years married to someone else._

 ** _Rayna._**

 _He could hear her…could hear the sadness in her voice when she spoke. When she talked to him about her label and the problems she'd been having with Juliette. When she told him about Maddie and Daphne. How they'd started back to school. How Maddie had been spending most of her time with Colt Wheeler and that she hadn't played a note on her guitar in weeks—how she feared Maddie had given up on music. How Daphne was heartbroken over Teddy having been arrested and put in jail on corruption charges. When she pleaded with him to open his eyes and to come back to her. He could hear the sadness. The desperation._

 _And he wanted to. God, how he wanted to open his eyes for her. To wipe the tears he didn't have to see to know were slipping down that beautiful face of hers. To hold her in his arms and tell her it would be alright._

 _He wanted to, but he couldn't. His eyes just wouldn't listen to him. As much as he willed them to, they just wouldn't._

 _And it was killing him that he wasn't strong enough to do that for her…slowly, but surely._

 _It was killing him._

* * *

 **-RAYNA POV-**

It was killing her.

Seeing him lying there in that hospital bed, eyes closed. Lord, how she'd begged and prayed for him to wake up. To just open those gorgeous blue eyes of his and look at her. To see those crinkles in the corners of them when he smiled that smile of his that somehow never failed to make her feel weak in her knees or have that fluttering feeling in her stomach. After more than two decades, that smile of his still got her every time.

Every time.

But it'd been weeks since she'd seen it. 3 weeks and two days, to be exact. 23 long days since he'd had the transplant and his heart had stopped on the table for 4 minutes and 20 seconds. Since then, all the tests they could possibly run had been run. And nothing. There was no medical reason for why Deacon had yet to regain consciousness. _It happens sometimes._ That was the vague explanation Dr. Rand—along with the team of specialists Rayna had had brought in to consult on Deacon's case—had given both her and Scarlett multiple times over the past 23 days.

 _We just have to wait_ , they'd said.

Well, if there was one thing Rayna Jaymes didn't do well…it was waiting.

 _Damn it, Deacon_ , she pleaded silently.

 _Wake up._

 _Please._

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, just wanted to get the premise out there. Next chapter is longer and nearly finished and will (hopefully) be up this weekend. Thanks for reading! -MJ_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Hi ya'll. Thanks so much for the lovely reviews and follows. You guys really inspire me to write with all your incredible, heart-warming feedback, so thanks for that! Here's the second chapter. It's not incredibly wrong, but I wanted to put something up for you guys since I wasn't able to post over the weekend. Life is really, really chaotic so I don't have an incredibly lot of free time to post, but I'll try to post once a week if not more as we go along with this fic. Again, thank you thank you thank youuu! As always, please review and let me know what you think...or if you have any ideas or suggestions on chapters or flashbacks you'd like to see played on...whatever you want. xoMessieJo**_

 _ **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. ABC owns everything.**_ **:)**

 _ **CHAPTER 2**_

 **RAYNA POV**

"Hey Babe, it's just me," she said as she walked into the private hospital suite, depositing her jacket and purse on the table besides the bed where he lay, still unconscious before moving to sit on the edge of the bed and taking his hand in hers. She smiled sadly as he looked down at his palm, rubbing her fingers over the hard callouses from years of playing guitar. God, how she missed hearing him play and making music with him.

In the month that he'd been living with her and the girls in Belle Meade—before the transplant—she'd hear him play nearly every night. Whether it be with the girls or by himself in her music room as he worked on a new melody that he wasn't quite ready to share with the world just yet. Though she knew she could easily have persuaded him to share and play them for her—it wouldn't have taken much—she chose to wait patiently instead, knowing that he wouldn't be satisfied until he'd gotten it absolutely perfect…and that the end result would be more than worth the wait. Now, as she held his hand in hers, she wished she'd have asked him to play it for her. A tear slipped down her face and she quickly swiped it away with the tips of her fingers as she faced the reality that she may never have the chance to hear it or him play for her again. The possibility of that happening nearly stole her breath. "Deacon—Babe, please wake up," she pleaded. "Please…" she repeated as her voice broke on a sob. Letting go of his hand, she covered her face with both of hers in an attempt to muffle the sound of her cries.

* * *

 ** _Deacon POV_**

 _"Rayna…Ray…baby, wake up…you gotta wake up…"_

Hearing Rayna's pleas, her cries…it took him back. Back to the accident that nearly cost him everything and everyone he cared about. Rayna, the relationship they'd slowly forged together in the weeks before the CMA's, his playing hand and the music…the possibility of a relationship with his daughter. Everything.

But Rayna especially. Seeing her lying there on the dash in the upside-down, totaled truck, unconscious and bleeding—he'd truly thought that he'd lost her...that she was gone and it was all his fault. He'd killed her. Just like he'd killed his best friend. Vince. He knew that in the eyes of the law he had been deemed innocent in the wreck that had taken his friend's life over two decades ago—but that did nothing to lessen the guilt he felt then—and still felt to this day. He'd been out with Vince that night. They'd gotten plastered—like they always did in those days—and instead of insisting they take a cab—as neither of them were in any condition to drive—he let Vince get behind the wheel and he slipped into the passenger seat. They didn't make it 5 miles down the road when Vince took his eyes off the road and crossed the median into the oncoming traffic lane. He'd swerved in time to avoid hitting the vehicle coming at them, but lost control of the truck, left the pavement and slammed head-on into a tree. Had he not been drunk and reckless and had taken the time to put on his seat belt, he might have survived. But he didn't. He went through the windshield and according to the autopsy report; he most likely died on impact.

Deacon didn't know if Vince really had died on impact, or if he'd succumbed to his injuries in the time it took the first responders to arrive. He'd suffered a severe concussion upon impact and lost consciousness. The last thing he remembered about that night was leaving the bar. After that, nothing…until he woke up 5 hours later in the Emergency Room, Rayna at his side, tears streaming down her worried, pale face. At first she'd been worried, but relieved, then sympathetic—hell, Vince had been her friend too, as well as a member of her band—and then she got angry.

As the sound of her voice started to fade, he slipped back into that dark oblivion…one particular memory on his mind.

 ****FLASHBACK****

 _The fight—one of the worst and biggest ones they'd ever had—came two weeks later after Deacon had been released from the hospital and after they'd brought Vince home to Natchez to be buried. Naturally, he'd been having a rough go of it. His best friend had died, after all. So one night when the grief became more than he could handle, he'd gone out and bought a case of beer and a bottle of Jack; deciding to drown his sorrows in the amber liquid. When Rayna had gotten home from the recording studio and seen the beer and the bottle, she'd lost it. She'd yelled at him, asking him if he'd learned nothing from that accident and Vince's subsequent death...sparking an argument that went from bad to hell in 10 seconds flat._

 _At one point, she'd grabbed the bottle of Jack and as many cans of beer as she could carry and took them all into the kitchen, then proceeded to empty the whiskey and the beer down the kitchen sink, Deacon hot on her tails._

 _"What the hell did you do that, for?" he demanded when she turned around and met his angry gaze._

 _"You don't need it," she said. "I know you're grieving and I am, too. We all are. But this is **not** the solution. Don't you get that? Don't you see? Vince is gone and I'm sorry for that—so, so sorry. I know you're hurting and that you're scared to accept that because then it makes it real…but you know what? I'm scared, too, Deacon. For you. For us…" A tear slid down her face and she dropped her gaze to the floor, gathering the nerve to look back up and face him. She generally refused to beg—she had far too much pride for that—but she made an exception. "Please, Babe…don't do this. Let me help you. I love you so much. And getting that phone call about the accident—it could just as easily have been you. And I—I can't do it anymore. I can't take the worrying and wondering when you're going to come home, if you're even going to come home. You have to stop. If not for yourself, then do it for me. Please…" she pleaded with him, tears streaming down her face._

 _Too consumed with the guilt over the accident and his grief for Vince, he ignored the hurt in her pleas…the fear. "What are you saying, Ray?" he asked her, giving her a narrowed glare._

 _She bit her lip nervously before speaking. "Rehab," she said, averting her gaze a moment before meeting his once again. "I want you to go to Rehab. I think—I think you need it. You need something. You can't keep doing this, Deacon. You need help—and you clearly don't want mine. So just…just promise me you go. That you'll think about going at least. Bucky found this great place just outside Nashville…they're really good at what they do…and really discreet. We had to pull some strings, but they're going to let you in the program. It's only 30 days, in-patient…I think it could really help you," she explained._

 _He scoffed at the mere suggestion. "And if I say no?" he asked._

 _She swallowed hard and gave a slight shrug. "Then I'm done. **We're done** ," she clarified. "I can't live like this anymore, Deacon. Not knowing where you are—if you're even okay. Cancelling shows at the last minute because you chose to get drunk instead. I love you, Babe. And I want nothing more than to have a future with you…our house on the lake, getting married, starting a family…I want all of that. And I want it **with you**. But it's not going to happen unless you stop. Please, Babe, do it for us," she pleaded softly._

 _He stood there, just staring at her…knowing on some level that she was right…but had far too much pride and consequently was too stubborn to admit or accept it. Especially from her. He was supposed to take care of her. Not the other way around. Needing to think, he shook his head and turned around, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch as he headed for the door. "Where are you going?" Rayna asked and he turned around, his hand on the doorknob._

 _He shrugged. "Out. For a walk. I need to…to think," he said. And before she say or do anything else, he left. He made it 3 blocks before he passed a nearby dive bar. He needed a drink. Just one, he told himself. By the end of the night, he couldn't say how many drinks he'd had—just that it'd been way more than one. And when he'd gotten back to the apartment—somehow of his own drunken accord—she was gone. She'd packed her things and left him a long letter, along with the directions and contact info on the rehab place._

 _That was the first time he went to rehab. And just as he'd predicted it wouldn't-before he'd even walked through the front doors two days later—it **didn't** stick._

 _And neither would the next three._

 ****FLASHBACK****

And throughout it all, she'd been there. The one constant in his life that he could always count on. Rayna. His warrior, his friend, his co-writer, the love of his life…always Rayna. Just as she was now, even though he could hear the sorrow in her voice when she spoke, could sense the disappointment when she pleaded for him to open his eyes and he didn't…because he couldn't. He was hurting her—without meaning to—but still, she was hurting. And there was nothing he could about it. Nothing at all. But by God, he was going to try.

Even if it killed him. He'd do it…for her.

For Rayna.


End file.
